The reason you're alive
by afinalchaotic
Summary: She closed her eyes, and thought. Aneurysm. Heart Attack. Stroke. Cancer. There were many ways to end a life.A story by Afinalchaotics friend. Yuffentine. One shot.


A/N: A random idea that I got while taking my English Final. I miss writting about Yuffie and Vinnie, but its not the right time to bring him back into completely and utterly random.

* * *

She knew the cause of the grounds new maroon color.

But she didn't get why.

Tendrils of soft seal brown blew about her face, criss-crossing in-front of her stormy violet eyes. Clouds rolled in over the horizon, the booming thunder and crashing lighting filling her senses. She shook her head softly, allowing herself to lapse into a catatonic state. It was as if she had stopped time, and with it, stopped the emotions.

"_Seventy-one." _

But with those two little words, the world started up again. The lightening struck down not far from the group, making her wince. But she did nothing more than that. Her face remained the same, as if she was carved of stone instead of being made out of flesh. Drops of rain fell from the fast moving clouds, one after another, until it was a down pour. But the group stayed where it was.

"_Seventy-two."_

Life was so much more fragile than she had ever realized. The girl had lost her mother when she was very young, and her father might as well be dead. Something had broken inside of him when her mother had gone back to the planet. She closed her eyes, and thought. Aneurysm. Heart Attack. Stroke. Cancer. There were many ways to end a life, but no way to control it. She had read about death; she had even caused death. But this...this was surreal. The blood had been shed, the lives had been taken. And not by fate, or time, or any such mistress. But by humans.

"_Seventy-three."_

She felt the bile clawing its way up her throat. Her heart rate quickened and slowed at the same time; she could feel it through every pour of her body, yet it had disappeared. Her eyes snapped open, releasing a single tear out of the many she had been holding back. She launched herself to her feet, startling the others around her. She didn't take in their faces; She didn't compare her pain to theirs. Instead she ran. Ran to get away. Ran to see how far she could go. But she couldn't escape the sounds. She couldn't escape the death tole being read.

"_Seventy-four."_

The fine grains of dirt and sand slipped from beneath her feet as she ran, making it slightly like the stumble of a drunken pirate. The tears that now cascaded down her pale facade made matters no better. She launched herself up the steps of the house, taking as many as a time as her short legs would allow. The textures beneath her feet changed from sand, to carpet and finally to tile, where she crashed down to her knees, allowing herself to heave until nothing came out, and even then, she continued.

"_Seventy-five."_

She curled up on the floor, listening to her heart beat. With each _thump_, she let loose a soft sob. Her heart still beated, but many did not. They had been stilled forever, without reason. The thought was sickening. She had done that to others before, but not like this. This was a heartless massacre, a crime that she would never forgive. Who was she to have lived when so many had died? Another sob wrenched its way out of her throat.

"_Seventy-six."_

The sound of footfalls was muffled like that of a radio underneath a blanket, but she noticed them nonetheless. She tried to silence her sobbing, but it was impossible. Her sharp dentals dug into her bottom lip, the pain bringing her back to her senses slightly. But her heart still beat fast, still coursed through each fiber of her being.

"_Seventy-seven."_

"Yuffie?"

The voice was deep, but not gruff as it usually was. The sound of thunder made her flinch, but her eyes retained their focus on his shoes. The man kneeled down, strong arms wrapping around her. She let her head rest on his muscular chest, but avoided looking into his eyes. She didn't want to see her weakness reflected in his eyes. He wasn't weak. Vincent Valentine and weak never belonged in the same sentence.

"_Seventy-eight."_

"Yuffie..."

He whispered, lips positioned near her ear. A shiver ran down her spine, making another soft sob leave her. He squeezed her wrist, allowing the pain to course through her veins. It brought her back to the right sense of mind. She quivered slightly, but he tightened his grip around her waist, stopping it slightly.

"_Seventy-nine."_

"Vincent, why? Why do they die, and I still live, if that's what you call this?"

The question rung in her ears, taunting her for asking him. She looked up at his eyes for the first time, watching as something beneath the hard exterior they put forth flickered, then reset itself. He picked up her wrist, and kissed the pulse point softly, then put it down. He did the same with the other wrist, his chapped lips like a haunting whisper on her skin. His lips brushed across her neck, and she quivered slightly.

"_Eighty."_

"Yuffie, You live for me."


End file.
